Dream The Impossible Dream

The Arctic Circle, specifically Alaska. Eternal day.

Robert. Downey. Jr. ….versus killer – and possibly genetically modified – Caribou. Which may or may not live there but what am I, National Geographic? (Now’s probably a good time for this disclaimer: any semblance of accuracy or sense is entirely unintentional and the result of a good memory of Christmas themed elementary school lessons.)

RDeej, armed only with his wit and a pocket knife, faces down the murderous herd on land and in what I can only assume are the icy waters of death. Which actually should’ve killed him. Or at least made it impossible for him to keep up the totally unnecessary chatter. (Caribou can’t talk.) He’ll learn just how sharp a snappy rejoinder must be….to survive.

Was my dream last night. Well, one of them.

I awoke at noon and informed the boys that it was basically miraculous that I was awake. Scratch that. It was probably really unhealthy. Since I went to bed after 8am. Now, if you don’t know me in real life or simply haven’t realized that you and I, we don’t share a sleep pattern – you’re like, “OMGosh, whyyyy?” Then I explain that – especially coming off a revision bender – my brain goes, hey…..

…..

Stay up with me.

But let’s skip that part for now and just talk about how some wiseguy replaced my brain with raw cotton.

^ That. Fillin’ up muh head skull.

But I’ve broken my covenant with sleep so. Here we are. Talkin’ about survival dreams. Which of course are the types of dreams one has when they’re just on the brink of brain death. And in those sleep-to-live instances – which I’m beginning to think are my favorite kinds of sleeping moments – I am apparently really preachy. Because jump back to the dream before RDJ and the reindeer with hooves that looked a lot like driftwood – which was a lot bit grosser looking than it sounds – and there I am, chatting with the mother of a toddler and for some reason, I was aggressively telling this not-even-walking-right-yet little girl that it was because of her Latina heritage that she would be a master storyteller. Isabel Allende came up. Because a passionate argument should only ever have one example.

But I’m really starting to think people would respond to that Robert Downey Jr makin’ his way in the tundra story.

…anyway, we’ll talk.

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